Wednesday, 12 September 2012

Never Waste an Experience

When my husband got
tired of trying to kill himself in racing cars, light aircraft, helicopters and
all the other stuff men turn to in their hour of mid-life crisis, he suggested
that we try boating. We were at home in Andorra, up to our ears in snow and the
heating was on the blink, so pretty pictures of sleek motor cruisers cutting
through the calm, crystal clear waters of the Mediterranean seemed rather
appealing. And safe. We fell for the hype and before we knew it, we were the
owners of an ancient boat in need of a considerable amount of tlc.

For Andre, that was
the start of an on-going love affair with the sea and all things nautical. For
me it was more a hate-love-hate situation. When the sea is actually as calm as they make it out to be in those glossy ads
then boating is a dream. But those days are few and far between. Most of the
time you’re tossed about like a loose coin in a washing machine, feeling sick
and wondering what the hell you think you’re doing.

Still, never waste an
experience, that’s my motto, and one good thing to come out of hours of staring
at endless expanses of sea was The
Hunter Files, my series of marine crime mysteries. The first, Unfinished Business, was published by
Carina Press last year, written under my other persona, W. Soliman.

Charlie Hunter is,
like me, a Brit. He shares my husband’s passion for boating and, at forty,
having taken early retirement from the police, plans to live aboard his trawler
yacht in Brighton marina and spend his days restoring it to its former glory.
Sound familiar?

Charlie’s dream life
doesn’t get off to a good start when a woman involved in one of his first cases
as a detective accosts him, trying to persuade him to look for her missing
sister. Charlie, a soft touch when a pretty woman turns on the tears,
reluctantly agrees. Mind you, if he’d known his investigation would lead to a
gang of ruthless Russians, leaving him and Kara fighting for their lives, he
probably would have stuck to boating!

But I’m getting ahead
of myself here. Writing this book was a departure for me, since it’s in the
first person, obviously from a male perspective. Andre came in useful here,
both with technical boating issues and likely male reactions in given
situations. Can’t say more than that!

Anyway, get a feel for
Charlie by seeing how he reacts to his first sight of Kara.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for Charlie Hunter.”

The spanner flew out
of my hand and clattered into the bilge. “Shit!”

“Hello there, is Mr.
Hunter on board? I was told to ask on this pontoon.”

I swore again. The
female voice responsible for breaking my concentration clearly wasn’t going
anywhere. Bare-chested and bloody-minded, I hoisted myself out of the engine
room of my motor cruiser and slowly wiped the oil from my hands on the rag
protruding from the pocket of my jeans. I took a moment to shake the hair out
of my eyes and rotate my shoulders to smooth out the kinks before turning to
the woman, ready to let rip. One look in her direction and the words stalled on
my tongue.

The policeman in me
took stock of the evidence. Midtwenties was my guess. Tall, slim, curly red
hair tumbling down her back, big green eyes, a dusting of freckles across her nose,
curves in all the right places, no wedding ring. The man in me couldn’t help
approving. She was just my type, or would be if I hadn’t sworn off all women as
being more trouble than they were worth. Still, there was nothing to say I
couldn’t indulge in a spot of window-shopping.

“I’m Hunter,” I said
tersely. “Something I can do for you?”

If the woman was
discouraged by my churlishness, she gave no sign. “My name’s Kara Webb, Mr.
Hunter.” She introduced herself as though it ought to mean something to me.

“Congratulations.”

“You don’t remember
me?”

“Can’t say that I
do.” The name rang a vague bell but I was willing to swear I’d never had the
pleasure. Kara Webb wasn’t the sort of woman a man was likely to forget.

“Is there somewhere
we could go to talk? I could buy you a coffee, or something.” She nodded
towards the café on the landside of the approach to the marina.

“Can’t see that we
have anything to talk about.”

“Please, I—oh!”

She broke off as Gil
bounded out of the boat’s salon, a growl rumbling in his throat, long tail
wagging like crazy. Talk about mixed messages. I made a mental note to have a
chat with my dog a bit later on about his duties. It would be useful if he
could get into the habit of warning me of imminent intruders before they
caused me to drop spanners in bilges.

“Gil!” Too late.
He’d already leapt onto the pontoon and was jumping all over my lovely visitor.
He’s a huge beast in an interesting variety of colours, and although I wasn’t
about to admit that he’s a big softie, a lot of people were intimidated by his
size. “Careful, he’s a bit edgy ’round strangers.”

“So I see.”

And then she smiled.
I found myself silently repeating the words I’d said aloud when I’d dropped
that spanner. Miss Webb, when she smiled, could put the sun itself to shame. It
changed the whole tenor of her face and dispelled the air of despondency I’d
sensed when first checking her out. Uh-uh, Charlie boy, I told myself
severely. This looks like trouble. Don’t let that bloody smile influence you
into buying whatever it is she’s come to sell.

Kara reached out a
hand to tickle the dog’s ears. Gil, sensing a soft touch, had already rolled
onto his back, ready to lap up any attention on offer.

“Gil,” she said,
“that’s a strange name for such a handsome beast. Something to do with
fishing?” She nodded towards the fishing rods attached to the roof of the
cockpit.

“It’s short for
Guilty.”

Stop by my website if
you get a moment. It’s at http://www.wsoliman.com.
You can read the entire first chapter of Unfinished
Business and its follow up Risky
Business, also published by Carina Press

Saving Grace

About Me

I'm a Brit now dividing my time between Andorra and Florida. I live with my husband Andre and a rescued dog of indeterminate pedigree. I write historical and contemporary romance as Wendy Soliman and my W. Soliman persona is responsible for The Hunter Files, my marine crime novels based in Brighton.